Fibber McGee on the Open Road
by Joseph Stevens
Summary: Fibber McGee and Molly adventure on the open road from 1935 radio programs.


This story is based on Fibber McGee and Molly radio programs from 1935. These radio programs, which are not under copyright, were written by Don Quinn, based on characters created by Marion and Jim Jordon and Don Quinn.

Chapter 1 - The Open Road

The white oak stretched its young leaves to catch the fading rays of a feeble sun. While the more adventurous had emerged from their buds days before, many were just beginning to stretch their pale green heads toward the warmth of an Illinois spring. A goldfinch, still growing into his summer finery, was pecking and scratching around the bottom of the oak. He cocked his head and his eyes darted across lengthening shadows as he heard a distant sound. With a cry of chick-chickary, he launched himself into the air over a gently rolling creek, past a meandering road and into the safety of a field of young corn.

Moments later the misgated beat of a four cylinder engine gave the nervous bird reason to fly a full cornfield away from the two lanes optimistically called a state highway. The distinct black grill of an aged Model T pushed aside the air with some difficulty as it rambled into view. Aiding and abetting the clanking motor was a backseat overflowing with pots, pans and household sundries. Though they were muted with blankets and towels they managed to engage in their own metallic symphony.

In the passenger seat rode a young Irish wife. Like many corn raised Illinois' girls, she had a plump face and a billowing figure that appealed more to the Midwestern boy than the Hollywood producer. Her green eyes could sparkle when her lips parted in a boisterous laugh, but when those lips straightened into a frown a sarcastic comment was sure to follow. Now her mouth was set in a hard line as the car's driver managed to find yet another hole in the road. As for the man behind the wheel, he didn't seem to mind the bumps in the road in the least. If he was a bit too short and a bit too stout from a love of food and dislike of exercise to be handsome, he seemed to radiate a natural charisma. Maybe it was because his blue eyes barely contained the mischievous twinkle of a man lived life one moment at a time.

"McGee do you hear that?" his wife demanded in strident brogue.

"You mean that number three cylinder, Molly? Shucks I told that fellow to adjust the plug to the thickness of a dime but he must have used two nickels."

"I don't mean a nickel or a dime. I mean a copper!" As she spoke, the plaintive cry of a police siren frightened away every goldfinch in a cornfield radius. McGee gingerly applied the worn brakes as a deputy from the small town they had passed through minutes before pulled along side.

"Good evening Sergeant. Nice cool evening isn't it?" the driver inquired in his most casually cordial voice.

"Yeah but it will be getting warmer any minute or maybe it'll be the cooler for you. Now what's the idea of passing a red light back there?" the officer demanded.

"Now don't try to bully me. I know some pretty big men around these parts!"

"Fine the judge is six foot three. Now follow me and no funny business."

"Its awful hot driving in July," observed Molly, as her husband turned the car back toward town.

"July, this here's April," said McGee as his face wrinkled into a quizzical expression.

"Sure but in ninety days it will be July."

"Ah Molly it ain't that serious," he grumbled, "Anyway I tell you that light wasn't lit." They followed the police motorcycle back into town in terse silence or as close to silence as the clanking Model T would allow. The officer pulled in front of the courthouse and hustled the two motorists inside. Minutes later they stood before the town's judge who looked happy to have a bit of business on a slow day.

"Silence in the court," he demanded with a bang of his slightly wobbly gavel, "What is this man charged with?" he asked the policeman.

"Running a red light at the junction, your honor."

"Your honor," the two prisoners in the docket chorus, "the light wasn't lit!"

"That doesn't matter, Your Honor, he should have stopped anyway," retorted the officer.

Again the gavel banged as the judge intoned his favorite line, "Silence, Silence."

Turning to the driver he asked, "What is your name defendant?"

"McGee, Fibber McGee your honor, descended of the Nebraska McGees a well known fam..."

"Enough of that," the judge interrupted, "Now I realize that light is not working correctly, but it is a red light lit or not and you should have stopped. What have you to say McGraw?"

"That's McGee and I have this here to say. I'm a law abiding citizen and if that lit had been lit I'd have stopped, but a red light that ain't lit ain't a red light on account of because a light that ain't lit ain't a light and if it's gotta be lit to be a light then a red light that ain't lit ain't a red light. If it ain't lit it's a dead light and a dead red light ain't no more a light than a lit light is a dead light. When my head lights sees a dead light red light or no red light I'm within my rights to ride right by that light. Come on Molly!" With that Fibber McGee and Molly strode from the courthouse. Without looking back Fibber started up the old T and the two rode out of town.

After a few miles of nervous driving Fibber asked his wife, "Take a little look behind us Molly and see if we got clean away?"

"I don't see anybody," she replied.

"Shucks try looking again," he said a few miles later.

"Nobody's back there. I think they let us go. Oh you were marvelous McGee."

"Oh it wasn't anything that any red blooded American boy couldn't have done if he had the law training I've had," said Fibber modestly.

His wife looked at him in a puzzled way and said, "You never told me about your law training."

"I never told you? Well I will. I had a big book when I was a little tyke to sit on when I ate my meals and it was all about law. Well when I got bigger and didn't need such a big book we tore out some of the pages and I read em while I ate. Lawbook McGee I was known as in those day. Lawbook McGee the brainiest boy who bellowed and boistered..."

"Don't give me none of your blarney McGee and... Keep your eye on the road," yelled Molly as Fibber almost missed the second half of an S curve. With the joint squeal of breaks and tires the flivver threaded its way along the winding concrete ribbon avoiding both the creek to the left and the wooden fence to the right. The robin flapped away indignantly and Molly let out a relieved sigh.

"I'm watching the road, I'm watching," Fibber declared before his wife could admonish him.

"Well see that you do Fibber McGee and I'll watch for someplace to eat. I can't remember the last time I had a good meal," said Mrs. McGee.

"We gotta keep driving and then find an auto-court or something for to spend the night." Fibber tightened his grip on the steering wheel and tried to ignore the empty feeling that was starting resonate through his oversized stomach.

"What's that ahead? It looks like a carnival," Molly pointed toward a throng of people a ways up the highway, "Oh McGee lets stop."

"Oh shucks Molly we ain't got time to go messing around those dad-ratted carnivals, besides it ain't a carnival."

"Then what is it? Look at all the people and the flags and all."

"I dunno what does the flags say on them?" asked Fibber

"Keep driving I can't see the writing yet," Molly instructed. As they drew closer the sounds of the crowd floated to their ears. It was a cheerful throng that seemed to be milling about for no particular reason.

"Oh slow down igornant," Molly called out a minute later, "so as I can read them signs."

"What's the sign say Molly? I can't read them and drive too."

"Oh must be a new subdivision McGee. It says Wistful Vista home site," she reported, "A dollar down. Buy a lot for a little."

"A lot of what?" asked Fibber.

"Build a home for the land's sake," Molly continued.

"Phoey from me to them."

"The realest real estate you ever saw."

"Shucks we don't want to stop and listen to a bunch of high pressure salesmen."

"Look McGee at that sign! Barbeque sandwiches and coffee free." The tires and brakes again joined there squealing voices as Fibber stopped the tinny lizzy fast enough to shake loose three of the pots in the back seat.

"Gotta get those brakes fixed one of these days."

"You needn't have stopped so sudden," complained Molly, "you near broke my neck."

"I know but I just happened to think that every American ought to be interested in the home building Molly. It's the backbone of this country."

"Go on with you McGee its your wishbone your thinking about. Your wishing for a free sandwich."

"Ah shucks, Molly...," Fibber started to say.

"Hello, hello, hello," a salesman with an ear to ear grin interrupted.

"That's one hello too many. There's only two of us," observed Molly.

"Yes I see and two of the exact types of citizens we want to see settle down on a cozy little nest here. For here is where you get a lot for a little, a home for half and contentment on every dotted line, why..."

"Where is here," asked the lady.

"Why this is none other than that beautiful landscape Hagelmeier's Wistful Vista subdivision and for only the small sum of..."

"Where do you get those free sandwiches," Mr. McGee interrupted in turn.

"and coffee," added Molly.

"Right over there at the barbeque pit, but before you avail yourselves of Hagelmeier's Wistful Vista hospitality let me tell you about our proposition here we have some of the finest."

"Come on Molly," said Fibber stopping the salesman cold, "don't know why we can't get a mouthful and an earful at the same time. Where is this free barbeque bud?"

"Now I must inform you that the word free is conditional," said the slightly dampened salesmen as he watched his prospects of a sale start to slip away.

"What do you mean conditional?" asked Molly starting to smell a rat even if he was dressed in a three piece suit, "Free is Free."

"Yes indeed. Free without the slightest reservations to those who hold a ticket to the grand drawing," the man continued smoothly.

"What do you mean grand drawer," Fibber wanted to know, suddenly as suspicious as his spouse that there would be now free dinner.

The salesman opened his eyes in surprise, "You mean to say that you have come within ten thousand miles of Hagelmeier's Wistful Vista without hearing from every man, woman and child the details about our sales stimulant?"

"Oh my," sighed McGee, his worst fears realized.

"Why for the paltry sum of only two dollars you will buy a ticket that may bring you shelter in your declining days, a haven from the storms of the future, the dream of every citizen of this great commonwealth."

"Oh you mean you're selling tickets on a house?" inquired Mrs. McGee.

"A house?" the man seemed incredulous, "A house? The house madam! The house of your dreams, the fulfillment of a lifetime of yearning, the answer to a women's prayer. Look there!"

"Where?"

"There!"

"There?"

"There, direct your gaze at that vine covered cottage, that modern marvel of the architects' art, the home of your heart's desire. Right over there." The man was pointing toward a small white house with green highlights.

"Oh, the house, oh," said Molly with a dull nod of recognition, "It is pretty isn't it McGee."

"I guess it's alright. Now where did you say this here barbeque pit was buddy?" he asked the salesman.

Molly shook here head, "McGee you got to have a ticket, the man says. 'Tis only two dollars and you have a chance to win the house and lot too. Am I right mister?"

"For the miserable sum of only two dollars," the salesman tried again.

"What on Nantucket is so miserable about two bucks? What that could buy twenty sandwiches!" Fibber exclaimed, "And let me tell you a hamburger in the hat is worth a house in the bush anyday. Come on Molly."

"Wait, McGee, wait. Buy me a ticket," his wife commanded.

"What's that Molly?" he asked in surprise.

"You heard me. Buy me a ticket," she repeated.

"But Molly," he implored, "Its two dollars."

"You heard me, buy a ticket. I'm starving."

"Say brother," Fibber turned toward the salesman, "how many sandwiches are you entitled to when you have a ticket?"

"Oh there is no limit, sir. It is merely a gesture of hospitality on the part of Hagelmeier's Wistful Vista development company we fell that a well fed pros..."

"You mean you can eat as much as you want?" asked Fibber, feeling that he had just heard the best news of the day.

"Why yes."

"Give me a ticket," he yelped.

"And as a friend to friend, let me say you have never made a wiser choice."

"You mean as one real estate man to another, brother," Fibber told the man.

"Oh Fibber give the man his two dollars and let's be eating," implored Molly.

"Alright here's your money and as I was saying," continued Fibber, "I used to dabble a might in real estate myself, tropical real estate mostly. Part payment promoter of Panama. Used to sell banana plantations mostly."

"Well if you'll excuse me," began the salesman.

"You ain't prying into my business a bit brother," McGee assured him, "always glad to share my experience with another real estate man. As I was saying I was the leading banana plantation man in Pango Pango. Even the great hurricane couldn't stop me even though lightning struck every one of my banana trees and split them right in half."

"Lightning struck every single one of your trees," asked the man incredulously.

"Yup split them all right down the middle but that didn't worry me none. I just took one look at those trees and ordered me a herd of Jersey cows shipped in and set up an ice cream operation."

"What for sir?"

"For banana splits for the export trade. Now come on Molly and let's find those sandwiches and that coffee." Fibber McGee got his dollars worth of beef of this there can be no doubt. To the man running the barbeque stand it seemed that every third sandwich he handed out was to the same garrulous man. A man who wanted extra beef on every sandwich, extra cream in every cup of coffee and gave detailed instructions on how his sandwich should be constructed.

At last Molly said, "If you think you can still walk let's be going."

"Ah shucks Molly you might at least let a fellow finish his sandwich," grumbled Mcgee.

"Finish your sandwich?" she shook her head, "You've eaten so much beef I'll have to ride herd on you for two weeks."

"Well you didn't do so bad yourself kiddo."

"I know I eat my dollar in relish alone."

"Now tear up that ticket and lets go," instructed his impatient wife.

"Now hold on a minute I paid two dollar for that ticket," said Fibber.

"Yes and eat four dollars of sandwiches and coffee. Anyway you don't really think you'll win that house and lot do you, McGee?" Molly asked.

"Well you never know."

"Look at the number on the ticket one hundred thirty one thousand three hundred and thirteen."

"Well what about it?"

"You think you'll win on a ticket that reads thirteen, thirteen, thirteen? You have three strikes on you already McGee. Now lets go."

"Oh you folks can't leave now," Fibber and Molly's salesman friend suddenly reattached himself to his prospective customers.

"You cannot afford to pass up the homemaking opportunity of a life time why when you consider what Hagelmeier's Wistful Vista offers..."

"Have you got any soda tablets on you bud," Fibber interrupted the man in a slightly strangled tone.

"Why are you ill?" the Hagelmeier's representative asked.

"'Tis his barbeque beef stampeding mister," Molly explained, "come on fibber lets be going".

"But wait implored," the salesman, "You haven't heard the true romance beyond the development of Hagelmeier's Wistful Vista. We want to see hundred of little children going to school and smoke curly from a hundred chimneys, even if we have to make a sacrifice."

"A sacrifice?" inquired Molly with an arched eyebrow, "A sacrifice when you can sell one hundred thirty one thousand three hundred and thirteen at two dollars a ticket raising over two hundred sixty thousand dollars on a house that couldn't have cost more than four thousand top put up. Answer me that."

"Well I think that, well I, look Mr. Hagelmeier is about to draw the winning number." Sure enough a prosperous looking gentleman had mounted a platform in the middle of the festivities and began to wave the crowd. He beamed down on them like a benevolent monarch about to announce that some lucky peasant only had to pay half his taxes this year.

Finally he cleared his voice and began, "Ladies and Gentlemen it is my great pleasure to announce the winner of the Hagelmeier's Wistful Vista raffle. Have your tickets ready please. The lucky winner will receive without expense of any kind this lovely house and lot."

"Oh and us holding thirteen, thirteen, thirteen," whispered Molly.

"To those who do not win we offer lovely homes here in Hagelmeier's Wistful Vista at reasonable prices."

"I betcha Hagelmeier wins it himself," Fibber whispered back.

"And the lucky number is one thousand and twenty eight. That is one thousand and twenty eight will the lucky winner please step forward."

"Oh well," shrugged McGee, "we had our fill of sandwiches and the roof probably leaks anyway."

"Tear up that ticket, one thirteen is bad enough but we don't want three of them following us around," Molly told him.

"Wait just a moment," Mr. Hagelmeier suddenly implored the crowd, "Please don't leave yet there has been a mistake. Number one thousand and twenty eight is not eligible to win and that number was turn in and the money refunded. Another ticket will now be drawn and the new number is one hundred thirty one thousand three hundred and thirteen."

"McGee," screamed Molly, "We've won, we've won! McGee, McGee..."

"Molly I..." began Fibber and then with a distinct "Uhg" he fell over.

"McGee! McGee!" called Molly, "Oh help somebody my husband has fainted!"


End file.
